


hearted haunts, you and i

by Radycat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Halloween Skins, Promised to do this months ago oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:19:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radycat/pseuds/Radycat
Summary: There were only two constants in the long years that Fareeha had walked the world, and one of them had nearly been taken from her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> happy...halloween, yall

 

“Well,” Angela says as she wakes up. “Hello, beautiful.”

 

“You’ve been asleep for three days,” Fareeha replies, staring down into a pot of soup.

 

The night hums quietly around the small watch tower, insects buzzing, the wind whistling softly through the trees. The moon hangs in the sky, nothing more than a sliver of white, and for all the stars that accompany the moon, only the light of the fire Fareeha has built manages to throw back some of the darkness.

 

The scent of cooking potatoes and rabbit meat drift from a small pot hanging over the fire, and it’s with care that Fareeha stares into the frothy, golden mixture and throws in a little more salt. It’s almost done, and smells heavenly.

 

Fareeha stirs the pot; watches the cooking potatoes and chunks of rabbit meat float around on the surface. At the same time, she watches Angela, out of the corner of her eye, sit up and stretch, hands high over her head. Watches her look around the forlorn watchtower, watches her focus her attention on Fareeha.

 

“So what brings you this far north?”

 

“None of your business,” Fareeha responds. She hands Angela a bowl of hot soup and a flask with water, ignoring the way Angela’s fingers brush against her own as the items are passed between them.

 

“Just making conversation,” Angela says, untwisting the cap of the flask and taking a long gulp. She licks at her lips afterwards, and Fareeha doesn’t watch the action.

 

“When are you ever just after a conversation?”

 

Angela smiles in return, blue eyes glinting in the firelight.

 

Silence overtakes them and Fareeha is glad for it. She doesn’t want to think about why she’d raced to the wilds of the north. Why she’d trekked through the swamps and thick pine forests of the twilight lands. Why she’d ignored the hundreds of souls rattling around in her head, angry that she’d let herself fall astray.

 

So she doesn’t. Instead, she shoves soup and stale bread into her mouth, listens to the fire pop and snap, stares into the brilliant glow of the coals.

 

“Can you blame me for wondering?” Angela asks eventually.

 

“Does it really matter why I’m here?”

 

“So you came because of me.” And she sounds so smug that Fareeha grits her teeth.

 

“I came because your associate’s creations were wandering into the valley.”

 

“If that’s the case, then you came too late.”

 

A scowl. “Obviously.”

 

A sigh. “So I was just the leftovers.”

 

“Angela.”

 

“Fareeha.”

 

A wolf howls deep in the night, just loud enough to draw Fareeha’s attention. “I’m leaving at sunrise.”

 

“You’ve never been a good liar, dear.”

 

“You think I’m staying?”

 

Angela gives her a look that manages to be half fond and half exasperated. Then she tugs on the baggy gray shirt she wears, clearly not hers, clearly too modest. “My possessions?”

 

Fareeha points. “Over there. So’s...everything else.”

 

“I wonder why I’m so clean,” Angela says, throwing Fareeha a playful glance while she picks at the material of the shirt. “It smells like you.”

 

Fareeha ignores her. Instead, she presses her lips together, tries to compress her jumble of thoughts into a coherent sentence. “You were,” she hesitates, “in a bad way.”

 

Angela laughs. “I was much more than ‘in a bad way’.”

 

She’d been lying in a pool of blood and mud, staring unseeing up at the sky, broomstick snapped in half beside her, and a cluster of nightmare crows squawking around her, waiting. Her hat had been lying several feet away, pinned to the ground with an arrow.

 

Fareeha had been frozen to the spot, air heavy in her lungs, head ringing. Disbelief warring with anger warring with panic. It had been a feeling that had hooked deep in her chest, refused to leave even after Fareeha had been assured of Angela’s survival, had seen with her own eyes the power of Angela’s magic, watched the bullet holes close, the bones snap back into place, the bruises fade.

 

There were only two constants in the long years that Fareeha had walked the world, and one of them had nearly been taken from her.

 

Hands slide over Fareeha’s cheeks, warm and real, pulling her out of her thoughts and towards the soft lips pressing against her own.

 

She pulls away as a pang of longing echoes through her. “Don’t,” she says hoarsely.

 

Angela’s hands drift across her jawline, lips worrying a spot below her ear. “Walk me home at least?”

 

“No.”

 

“Stay for dinner?”

 

“I already cooked.”

 

Angela settles herself in Fareeha’s lap like she belongs there, beautiful and enchanting in a way that steals the air from Fareeha’s lungs, the thoughts from her head. Her hair is a mess of golden strands, set aglow by the nearby fire. Her eyes as bottomless as they are blue, speckled with silver and undividedly focused on Fareha.

 

There’s a hunger for Angela that follows Fareeha wherever she goes, whispers amongst the screams for justice, sweet and lovely and fleeting all at once. Perhaps it is the same for Angela, perhaps a part of Fareeha stays with her, even when she’s alone, speaking with the dead and stitching together servants, making fool and friend alike in the dark corners of the world.

 

Fareeha likes the thought. That Angela is haunted by her as much as she haunts Fareeha. An eye for an eye, the souls whisper to her. A tooth for a tooth.

 

Their mouths meet again and again, and each time Fareeha feels her resolve to leave falter, feels Angela’s presence sink bone-deep inside her. At any other time, Fareeha would put up more of a fight, but now, here, she can only close her eyes and let her hands rest against Angela’s neck, let the steady heartbeat beneath her fingertips lull her under Angela’s spell.

 

A tongue glides across her lower lip, and Fareeha opens her mouth, breathes out a sigh and feels Angela’s tongue against her own. She lets Angela guide her, until she’s on her back on the fur bedroll, Angela stranding her hips, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.

 

Fareeha tastes the impatience in Angela’s kiss, smiles because of it. Her hands find the curves of Angela’s hips, and without a thought she flips them over, settling herself against Angela, hears her moan when they pull apart for air.

 

It’s like a blow to the gut, the needy desperate quality in Angela’s voice, and all at once Fareeha’s touch becomes heavy and hungry, tugging at Angela’s clothes and stripping her bare. She noses against Angela’s neck while her hands smooth over warm flesh, movements made clumsy by her growing want.

 

“Oh,” Angela whispers, when Fareeha parts her legs, shoves a hard thigh against her. “Oh,” she says roughly, arching and flushing and eyelids fluttering. Her blonde hair pools around her head like golden silk, hands tugging uselessly at Fareeha’s clothing.

 

Fareeha pauses for a moment, pushes herself up just enough to get a good look. Her eyes rake across pale breasts and wide hips, across the expanse of her stomach and fine blonde hairs between her legs.

 

She’s gorgeous. She’s perfection. Fareeha wants to sink her teeth in and never let go.

 

Instead, she straddles one of Angela’s thighs and busies herself leaving marks spattered across her neck, her hands settling on her chest, fingers rolling and pinching her nipples. Every moan and sigh only encourages her further, and soon she’s trailing a hand down between Angela’s legs, finger sliding into heat, seeking out her clit.

 

Angela whines and Fareeha grins and then she plays Angela as assuredly and confidently as only she can be, drinking in her wet sounds, and the feeling of nails clawing at her clothed back.

 

She doesn’t take long to break. Biting her lip and arching her back, hands digging into Fareeha’s neck. Her eyes squeeze shut and she gasps harshly.

 

Fareeha removes her fingers and kisses her softly, lazy and slow, until Angela has the right mind to properly reciprocate. When she pulls away, Angela’s blush deepens and she looks away.

 

“What? Now you want to act shy?”

 

“Now I want to sit on your face,” Angela replies, rolling them over with a crack of magic. The air hums with it, skating across Fareeha’s skin with the intensity of it. Her hands fist into the material of Fareeha’s shirt, eyes dark like an incoming storm. “I want you to fuck me with your tongue.”

 

“Yeah?” Fareeha says roughly, watching with hooded eyes as Angela shuffles forward. A moment later she’s kneeling above her, the scent of her spilling over Fareeha. Pink lips glisten with wetness, framed by fair hair and thick thighs. Fareeha stares without shame, anticipation curling inside her.

 

Fareeha’s first lick is slow, a small sampling at best. More appreciative than teasing. The second lick is firmer, and so is the third and fourth. Fareeha runs her tongue against Angela, until she’s all she tastes, until the steady rhythm of Angela’s hips and her soft keens lull Fareeha into a pattern, all the while her own need throbbing hot and insistent between her legs.

 

Fingers find purchase in her hair, nails grazing her scalp. They tug. Just hard enough to get her attention, just hard enough to make it hurt.

 

Angela grinds against her rough and desperate, until she’s gasping, hands pulling Fareeha’s hair to the point of pain, gasping as she spills over the edge again.

 

She drinks in Angela’s climax, and knows she wants more. Her hands move to grab at Angela’s ass, kneading the flesh, before they drag back to her hips, pull Angela back down onto her mouth.

 

Angela groans in protest, but it doesn’t take long for her hips to start rocking again, thighs trembling slightly. Her hands slip back in Fareeha’s hair, and the way she says Fareeha’s name is only full of half-reproach.

 

She works her until Angela shatters again, this time with a hoarse cry. She shakes, and struggles to keep her balance and curses Fareeha and heaves, and then Fareeha starts again.

 

More than anything, Fareeha wants to replace the image of the broken, dying Angela with this one, the soft, shaking form of the woman above her. Alive and warm and ready for another century of their shared nonsense, of these brief moments that make the path of eternity more bearable.

 

Only when Angela begs for a reprieve does Fareeha stop, and Angela is left to pull herself together while Fareeha cleans her face. They both take a moment to catch their breath, and Fareeha knows she looks as equally as wrecked as Angela.

 

They share the last bit of water from the canteen, and Fareeha can’t help but look over Angela, smirking at her handywork. The marks she leaves on her will carry for a few weeks, linger on even after they’ve gone their separate ways.

 

Fareeha knows Angela will show them off. She never did know the meaning of shame.

 

“Arrogant,” Angela says when she catches Fareeha’s expression. She rises up, nude and glorious, and shoves Fareeha onto her back.

 

“Confident,” Fareeha replies.

 

Angela crawls over her, breasts swaying and hair falling around her face. She pauses, a thoughtful expression on her face, like she’s debating with herself what, exactly, she wants to do with Fareeha.

 

She starts with a kiss. Deep, heavy, muffled moans and swallowed gasps. As she sucks on Fareeha’s tongue, Angela begins to undress her, unbuckles her belt and pulls the shirt from her pants, lets her nails catch in the fabric. Several times her progress is stalled by the complex webbing of buckles and straps that keep Fareeha’s leather pauldrons in place, and several times she fails to undo them.

 

“I should just make your clothes disappear,” Angela says, scowling as her hands tug and fingers wiggle, treating Fareeha’s armor like it’s an unruly knot. Fareeha chuckles beneath her, teeth sink into her neck in response.

 

The sting is exquisite. Her stomach clenches. “Where would the fun in that be?”

 

Angela glares at her and with a snap of her fingers, Fareeha is naked and under her, goosebumps rising as the cool night air envelops her.

 

“That’s better,” Angela says, sighing as she lets her hands run over Fareeha. She teases her nails against Fareeha’s round shoulders, around her breasts and against her stomach, biting her lip as the muscles there tense and spasm.

 

“Cheater,” Fareeha says weakly, trying not to let Angela know how needy she is for her touch. She burns for it, hollow and tense as all the heat inside her pools between her legs. Hands find her breasts, pinch her nipples and tug until she whines out, arching her back and completely exposed.

 

“I’m not the honorable one, remember?” And then her lips replace her fingers.

 

Angela sets her teeth into Fareeha’s nipple, pinches the other one and tugs. She can feel the tug shoot right between her legs. She gasps, hands at Angela’s lower back. Desire burns through her, hot and cold. She begins to sink into it, melting under the heat of her desire. Of Angela’s desire.

 

Angela works at her breasts until Fareeha is moaning, legs shifting and fingers gripping into the fur roll beneath them. She’s sinking into the sensations, Angela’s touch persistent and knowing, playing Fareeha at every show of her teeth and flick of her tongue.

 

She’s the only one who knows Fareeha this well-the only one allowed to know her this well.

 

“Enchanting,” Angela says with a pleased sigh, moving her attention to Fareeha’s stomach, to her hips and thighs. Years of battles, of adventures and loss have left their marks across her skin, and Angela glides her tongue across each one she finds, hands pushing Fareeha’s legs further apart.

 

She’s everywhere and she’s nowhere near where Fareeha wants her. Unable to vocalize her desires past moans and gasps of Angela’s name, Fareeha is helpless under the force of Angela’s want.

 

And then, for a moment, whether it’s the moonlight streaming in through the crumbling structure, or a cry from a nearby crow, Fareeha’s mind drags her back to the moment she’d found Angela. The second she’d thought she’d been too late.

 

A single finger drags against her, just enough to let her know it’s there, and just as abruptly as the memory surfaces, it’s gone, replaced by a haze of pleasure.

 

“Angela.”

 

Blue eyes find her, the finger teasing her is joined by another. “You're so wet,” Angela says, “so warm.”

 

Fareeha bites her lip, hips rising, seeks more contact.

 

“Tell me why you really came,” Angela says suddenly, resting her forehead against Fareeha’s. Her fingers find Fareeha’s clit and circle it gently.

 

Fareeha doesn’t want gentle. She doesn’t want Angela’s questions either, or her curiosity. All she wants is her fingers and her heartbeat and the knowledge that Angela Ziegler still lives. She snaps, “I haven’t yet.”

 

It’s obviously not the answer Angela wants. Her mouth presses into a thin line, and she opens her eyes to stare down at Fareeha. Her fingers continue their slow pace. “Tell me. I want to know.”

 

“And I want an orgasm,” Fareeha says. All she gets is a sorrowful look, and it breaks her resolve faster than the fingers moving against her. They don’t do this. They don’t--do this. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I do,” Angela says. She kisses Fareeha, her fingers moving faster. “And then we’ll forget it ever happened. I almost died, Fareeha.”

 

“Sex first, pillow talk later.”

 

Angela moves her hand. She slides her fingers into Fareeha, curling them just right, just rough enough. Saying without words that their conversation is far from over.

 

Pleasure ripples through Fareeha, curling her toes and making it impossible to keep her eyes open. She moans, hips following Angela’s steady pace, and when Angela’s free hand rakes down her chest, between her breasts and to her bellybutton, she cries out, a choked, desperate sound.

 

She tips over the edge, back arching, mouth open in a series of gasps that don’t make it out quite right. Bliss crashes through her like a tidal wave, rushing up through her, leaving her spent and languid and sated.

 

Her heart thunders in her chest, she twitches around Angela’s fingers. For a moment, everything is silent and perfect inside her.

 

She wonders if that’ll always be the case. A long road to walk alone, her only respite a woman usually half a world away. Fleeting touches could only convey so much for so long.

 

When Fareeha opens her eyes, Angela is staring down at her, a soft look about her features, hair tangled and cheeks flushed. She kisses Fareeha’s forehead. “And we’ll forget it ever happened,” she repeats, her lips moving to Fareeha’s cheek, to the corner of her mouth. “You promised.”

 

Fareeha closes her eyes, feels the words welling up in her throat. “Yeah,” she says, letting her hands coast the planes of Angela’s skin. “Okay.”

 

And so she does.

 


End file.
